


the language of half-lidded eyes

by Ponderosa



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1333342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hasn’t said a thing for over an hour; there’d hardly been a sound out of him, just the language of half-lidded eyes and hands gripping at ruined sheets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the language of half-lidded eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Half of this is pretty much [Cara](http://exorin.tumblr.com)'s doing. I just cleaned it up the askbox flailing we sent each other as we grappled with the concept of how pretty Athos is when he's exhausted and well-fucked.

Aramis spends himself inside Athos with a shudder. Athos who is exhausted and sweaty, strands of his fine hair sticking to his forehead and face. He’s beautiful with his legs spread open, his hole stretched and wet, his cock hard and begging. The flush of his cheeks is mirrored on his bare chest and his teeth are bright on his lip.

He hasn’t said a thing for over an hour; there’d hardly been a sound out of him, just the language of half-lidded eyes and hands gripping at ruined sheets. The first word out of his mouth when Aramis pulls free of him is “please” and it means “more” but Aramis is only a man, and a mortal one at that. He wipes his brow, prays for a miracle and when God fails to grant him a second wind, he uses his fingers, a knot of them, until Athos’s eyes slide shut again.

It would be easy to finish Athos if Aramis could get a hand on him, but he’d scowled and twisted away the first time Aramis had tried when fucking into him deep and slow and at the second, when Aramis’s thrusts had become desperate, Athos had laid a hand to Aramis’s wrist in a mute plea of “no, not like that.” Aramis’s teeth grind together as he yet again watches Athos get closer and closer to the edge. His fingers know just where to push and stretch, and Athos’s cock swells harder still, but the spill doesn’t come, and Aramis’s wrist aches from the pace he keeps. He fucks his fingers deep into Athos, twists and pushes, a wide stretch of four that has turned Athos into a mess of low noises--

He whimpers and arches as Aramis leans over him, gets Athos’s leg high on his shoulder and urges him on with whispered words, “Come on, Athos, come on. That’s it, gorgeous, come on.”

Athos is shaky now, belly taut and quivering, his teeth so hard on his lip that Aramis waits for the bright red of blood to be drawn. Instead he thinks Athos might come as a hard quake rocks Athos’s body and a hard exhale accompanies his mouth falling open wide.

But no, not yet. And the marks bitten into his lip turn his mouth as red as his cock.

Aramis’s breath is as quick and heavy as Athos’s, heating the shared air between them. No amount of desperate wishing will get his cock hard enough to slip inside of Athos again. Though Athos is so sweetly stretched that Aramis’s fingers thrust easily into him all the way to the knuckles. Aramis’s fingers are hot, slippery with oil and his own come, each push mixing the two together with obscene sounds.

The whole of Athos’s body vibrates, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as Aramis presses lips to his damp forehead. His mouth slides down until his voice pours straight into Athos’s ear, a mix of breathless spanish and quiet urging, “Athos, let go. I’ve got you.”

_I’ll never let you go._

His head drops against Athos’s shoulder as he fights through the burn of muscles threatening to cramp. With blurry eyes, he sees Athos’s hand spread wide, the crumple of the sheets falling away as his fingers and palm stretch to their fullest. There’s still no clutching spasm around his own hand, nothing yet, but a shock goes through his system when Athos’s arm curls around him. It’s as if Athos would be rid of any space left between them, and in an instant the ache in Aramis’s arm is of no more consequence.

He looks up to see the marks still bright on Athos’s lip. A quick swipe of tongue across them leads to a kiss that’s gentle in the way that the hard push of his fingers are not. Athos goes completely still for a moment as Aramis’s mouth brushes his--he shudders to a stop like a drop of rain on glass only to burst into motion again with the same suddenness. His hand threads through Aramis’s hair, fists in it and pulls him down, fitting their mouths together properly--kisses him deep, tongue pushing into the corners of Aramis’s mouth. Aramis is driven by the extent of Athos’s need, the weak, desperate noises smothered between their lips that would otherwise stay hidden in Athos’s heart. He can feel the beat of it now, pounding against his own chest alongside the pulse of Athos’s cock tight between them, and God, he must be close--

There’s a moment when their bodies shift, when Aramis is certain that Athos can’t possibly bend any further--near double beneath him as he is, pressed heavily into the bed. And there’s a moment when Aramis is certain that he can’t give Athos everything he needs right now. He sets the worrisome thoughts aside, lets them go as he hopes Athos can be rid of the cloud of tension that had brought him into Aramis’s bed.

In the span of a few breaths, Aramis’s fingers and tongue fall into the same rhythm, slow slick thrusts the both of them. Athos’s cock is hard and wet and burning at the bare skin of Aramis’s belly, and it’s a shock when that friction turns to nothing, when the spasms of Athos coming so very, very hard finds Aramis’s fingers. The way Athos’s body clamps down on his fingers nearly forces them out along with the mess left wet inside him.

Aramis feels remarkably depraved when he rubs the flat of his fingers over the stretched heat of Athos’s hole. Moreso when he sucks a hard kiss to Athos’s neck and pushes the remains of his come back into Athos’s body, but he would leave his mark on Athos in every way. Perhaps in the morning Athos will thank him for it. Not in words, Aramis knows, but in a soft look or a silent, solemn exchange. For now, he is a shaking, shivering mess, and Aramis strokes him through the whole of it.

“I’ve got you,” Aramis says, one final time.


End file.
